


a poem on sunday

by poalimal



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: "poetry", F/M, Fic in the Time of Quarantine, Gen, M/M, Poetry, poetry?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23630593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: Derek writes Chris some poems. Chris returns the favour.
Relationships: Chris "Chowder" Chow/Caitlin Farmer (past), Chris "Chowder" Chow/Derek "Nursey" Nurse
Kudos: 3





	a poem on sunday

_A poem for Chris, in his kitchen;_  
 _left Sunday_. 

( _for you and your book_.)

He remembered falling asleep. The pull-out bed, the rolling-over, of some forgotten phone - Derek stretched out sitting, tipsy and handsome.

He'd said he was so tired, 'I couldn't even sleep.' Awake enough to write, he was, while Chris drifted away. An embrace there in the darkness, before he left his place - a flight to catch, a page to write. A month, a year away.

The poem? About Chris sleeping, his _grumpy little sighs_ , the _heat of all his body_ , the _bags be_ / _neath his eyes_.

D always left him poems; Chris used to pin them up. But now there were too many, so Chris saved them in a book. How to show to Derek? he had not figured out. It felt somehow more private the longer on it went.

At first Cait found it funny; and now they did not speak. Of course they were still friendly - and yes, he loved her still. But he never knew her truly, and now he never will.

It's too late to say I need him, Chris thought, flipping through the book. I'll read these poems one last time, and then I'll get to work.

The first poem that D wrote him, almost ten years long a-go, was not a real poem, but a lazy...ehh, haiku.

 _I think you_  
 _are sooooo funny. You_  
 _are so_ \--

And one from senior year, before Chris ruined his knee:

 _i hope you know_  
 _wherev you go_  
 _you always still have me_ _!_

He noticed now they dwindled, after Cait and he had wed. Derek had his Bryan, he thought all along the time: I am hers, and he is his - I cannot claim he's mine.

A few lines, post-sett-le-ment, when he'd stayed two months at D's:

_You speak to me of love_   
_You want me to believe_   
_Chris I'll never doubt you_   
_You know I'll never leave_

The one night there between them, that D would not discuss. The poem scrap he'd stolen, and he'd re-read far too much:

 _i want you like nothing - the nothing past the stars - the galaxy expanding - the nothing in your arms - i want now not to love you - i wish we had not fucked - i want you chris please always - ~~please give me all your love~~_ ( _petulant!_ read Derek's angry notes. _pedestrian! prick!_ )

And why wouldn't D be hopeless? Chris had never gave him hope. He gave a pull-out couch, a friendly hug, and really not much else.

How many ways are there to say, I love you very much? He thought it through, he took the day; he slept again, through lunch.

 _Home safe_ , D's message told him, a heart symbol nearby. Is even this a poem? Chris thought, fearing he might cry. But he sat up and he texted, he texted words to say, and D he hoped was reading, all his many planes away. He cast words in the deep / hoping he could swim; / or that D'd come up for air, / and want to speak with him:

_❤️_

_I was just thinking this_   
_morning_

_About how you_   
_always leave me poems_

_So I thought that I'd_   
_give it a try_

_Ok. So. Here goes:_

_Counting all my words_

_I know I have so few. I_

_cannot be without_

_fuckkkk_

_I_ _ran out of_ _syllables sorry_

_I was going to say:_

_I cannot be without you._

The pause of Derek reading; the held breath while he typed.

An answer he could've dreamed in: hope now a flame, alight.

* * *

_From D - First anniversary! 4/12/27_

**Author's Note:**

> In searching for a title for another story yesterday, I began reading Lorenzo Thomas ( _The cruelty of ages past affects us now_ ), as well as a few of his peers - Rita Dove ( _I am a little like / them, / heavy-headed, / rough curls open to the rain_ ) and Ishmael Reed ( _I say, it's six o'clock in Oakland / and the sun is red with wine / We buried you this morning, baby / in the shadow of a vine_ ) - and a few of his youthful favourites: Sadakichi Hartmann ( _Why I love thee? / Ask why the seawind wanders_ ) and Isabella Gardner ( _I shall go once more to these woods until I die_ ), and just felt like writing something inspired by the feel and cut of poems. 
> 
> I first wrote this as prose from Chris's POV, but as I progressed I realised I was choosing words based on metre; so gradually it morphed into a poem from Derek to Chris, about Chris thinking of Derek, saved later in a book by Chris. Some of the lines I think still reflect the original POV, though I did try to pull them back and make them more likely to be written by Derek, as opposed to being thought by Chris. The line about Cait, in particular, still seems-- unusual! For Derek to write about. I also wasn't thrilled about the last few lines, and just wanted to leave off with the end of Chris's text-poem - but that felt a bit too ambiguous, for an anniversary poem. Happy to try something new, at any rate.
> 
> I've included here a few resources for poets or writers adversely impacted by COVID-19 who are based in [the UK](https://twitter.com/STWevents/status/1248960243280814081), [the US](https://poets.org/text/covid-19-resources-poets-and-poetry-organizations), or [Canada](https://www.writerstrust.com/programs/canadian-writers-emergency-relief-fund/). If you are looking for a poetry-based organisation to which you can donate, please consider South Africa's [Hear My Voice Poetry Relief Fund ](https://twitter.com/HearMyVoiceSA/status/1246002426123083782/) or Canada's [Art Bar Poetry](https://www.facebook.com/donate/230707864649157/).
> 
> I strongly doubt this fic will get much traction, but let me know of other links for relief or donations, and I will happily add. Stay safe, everyone.


End file.
